Book 1: His First Love (Ivory Peaks Romance)

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Hunter Hammond sat down on the bench, the beautiful organ music filling the chapel, and rested his forearms on his knees. His head bowed, he tried to clear his mind and push all the achiness from his muscles.

He closed his eyes and prayed, letting his thoughts move wherever they were wont to go. 

“You okay, Hunt?” his dad whispered from down the pew, and Hunter just nodded. He simply wanted to sit for a minute. Ponder, and try to rejuvenate before he started full-time at Hammond Manufacturing Company in the morning.

Am I in the right place, Lord? he asked, and the answer came instantly.

Tingles ran down his shoulders and into his fingers, sliding down his spine and all the way to his toes.

Yes, he was in the right place.

Exhaling the last of the tension out of his back, he raised his head and looked up to the pulpit. He’d missed coming to church here for the past seven years as he’d been off at MIT, learning and working and trying anything he thought he wanted to try.

He’d earned his master’s degree in Bioinformatics, which blended computer science with genetics, molecular biology, math, database creation, and operating systems. He loved computers almost as much as he loved crossword puzzles, and as he’d progressed through high school, he’d realized how very good at math and science he was.

The horses and goats on the family farm where he’d grown up and worked until he’d left for college hadn’t cared about his skills with numbers and formulas, but MIT had. He’d earned a full scholarship there that he only came close to losing once.

He glanced down the row, over the tops of three children’s heads. His half-siblings. Really, they felt like his full siblings, and he grinned at the youngest of them, Deacon, a cute five-year-old that finally looked like a Hammond.

“Hunt, look,” the little boy said, and Hunter pulled the dark-haired child onto his lap to look at what he’d been writing. 

“It’s your name,” he whispered. “Remember, we have to talk quiet at church.” 

“Shh,” Deacon whispered back. “How do you spell your name, Hunter?”

Hunter started to spell it for him, pleased when Deacon knew all the letters and got them all about lined up in a row. “Good job, buddy,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the boy’s head. 

“Good morning, friends,” a man said, and Hunter looked up to the pulpit again, where Pastor Benson stood. He’d definitely aged since Hunter had attended church here for the last time, and he had plenty of gray hair now, with wrinkled laugh lines around his eyes.

Hunter loved Pastor Benson—and not just as a pastor. He’d spent a lot of time at the Bensons’ house, as he’d dated their oldest daughter for years. 

His father hadn’t been pleased with Hunter and Molly’s relationship. Looking back, Hunter could see his dad’s point of view, and he knew that twelve was way too young to start dating. 

At the same time, he’d been devastated when Molly had finally ended things between them completely the week before his sophomore year started. Hunter had disappeared for a while that year, and he’d discovered his tenacity and talent for science and math while he hunkered down and tried to figure out who he was.

“We have a lot of visitors today,” Pastor Benson said. “It’s nice to see all the young people home from college.” He beamed out at the congregation, and added, “Let’s stand and sing hymn forty-two.”

Hunter set Deacon on his feet and picked up a hymn book as he stood too. He didn’t count himself as one of the “young people home from college.” He was twenty-five years old and had been living in Massachusetts for years now. He’d graduated a year ago but stayed back East to finish a project he’d founded during his collegiate career.

He’d gotten his two billion dollars on his twenty-first birthday, and he’d done something with it already. Now, he was set to start at HMC in the biometric lab, and his voice scratched on the first note. He recognized the nerves, though his dad had been telling him not to worry. Everyone at HMC knew him; he’d be fine.

Hunter sang the hymn, using the music and the message to once again relieve his rising anxiety. He’d been seeing a therapist for over a decade, and he was glad to be back in the Denver area so he could see Lucy in person. She’d been amazing over the past several years, and he’d been able to do video counseling with her to keep himself mentally strong.

He glanced down as Deacon stepped on his foot, and found his next oldest sibling trying to wrench the pen away from the five-year-old. “Tucker,” Hunter said quietly, and the seven-year-old looked up at him. Hunter shook his head and nodded his cowboy hat toward the front. 

Tucker was the middle child of Dad and Elise, and he looked like it. He was half dark and half light, with blonde hair that came from Elise and brown eyes that came from Dad. Beside him stood Jane, a ten-year-old that, at first glance, looked like Dad hadn’t had any part in her creation. She had Elise’s blue eyes and blonde hair, though if Hunter looked further than surface colors, he’d find the Hammond chin and nose on Jane’s face.

She looked at him and smiled, and Hunt smiled back. He’d loved these kids as he’d grown up. He’d left for MIT only a week after Tucker had been born, and he’d come home to hold Deacon for a whole weekend before he had to return to Massachusetts.

The song ended, and Hunter sat down. He reached over and took the pen from Tucker and gave it back to Deacon. Tucker glared at him, and Hunt reached into his breast pocket and pulled out another pen. 

He lifted his eyebrows at Tucker, who softened and nodded. Hunter looked at Deacon, his message clear. Tucker leaned over and said, “Sorry, Deac,” and Hunter handed Tucker the pen.

When he looked up, he met his father’s eyes, and Hunter saw so much of himself in his dad. Gray Hammond had grayed too, but he still radiated power from his broad shoulders and strength from his eyes. Dad had been a corporate lawyer for the first twelve years of Hunter’s life, and he’d been his absolute best friend forever.

Hunter hated disappointing him, and he’d worked as hard as he knew how to make sure he upheld the Hammond legacy and made something of the money his father had given him. Extreme gratitude flowed through him as he continued to hold his father’s gaze, and finally Dad grinned and whispered, “We need to go fishing.”

Hunter nodded, his chest tight. He missed fishing with his father terribly. He missed hugging Elise. He missed laying on the floor while the littles crawled all over him, trying-but-not-really-trying to get away from him as he tickled them.

He’d missed Ivory Peaks and his life here with a force he hadn’t even recognized until now.

You’re back, he told himself as Pastor Benson got behind the mic again and began his sermon. 

Hunter refused to look around and find the rest of the Benson family. He and Molly had managed to stay friends through the rest of high school, but Hunter hadn’t kept in touch with her over the past several years. She’d earned some money to a university in Denver, and as far as he knew, she’d gone, graduated, gotten married, moved on.

Hunter had tried to do that too. He’d taken his uncles’ advice and kissed a lot of girls. Uncle Colton had said there was nothing wrong with kissing, and after a rocky start, Hunter found he sure did like it. 

His senior year, he took a different girl to every available school dance, and he’d kissed them all. In college, he asked out anyone who caught his eye, and he kissed all of those women too. He’d met a girl named Abby, and he’d started to fall for her. They’d dated for a year before he finally had to accept that they were on two different paths.

His had always been coming back to Colorado and Ivory Peaks. Always. He loved the farm with every cell in his body, and he loved his grandparents more than that. He knew he’d use his degree at the family company, and he’d known Abby had her own family obligations.

When she’d finished her bachelor’s degree at MIT, she’d returned to New York to work in that family business, and they’d broken up. 

Hunter could still hear her voice sometimes, if he held very still and blocked out all other noise. He missed her too, but it had been a couple of years since that relationship had ended, and he’d once again taken some time to find himself before he asked anyone else out.

For the past year, he’d dated only casually, and that had been enough for him. 

Looking down the row of children to his dad, he thought he might like to get started on a family earlier than Dad had. He’d just turned fifty-five, and he had a five-year-old. Elise was much younger than Dad, but they’d stopped with three kids, because Dad didn’t want to be eighty when they graduated from high school.

The sermon ended, and Hunter started helping Deacon and Tucker to pack up their notebooks, books, and pens. “Come on, guys,” he said. “You can ride with me if you don’t dawdle.”

“Can I, Dad?” Tucker asked, spinning to their father. “Hunt says we can ride with him.”

“Are you going back to the farm?” Dad asked, handing Jane something she’d dropped. “I thought you might stay for the luncheon.”

Hunter shook his head, unable to come up with a reason why he’d do that. Why did Dad think he would?

Deacon slipped his hand into Hunter’s. “I’m ready, Hunt. No dawdling.”

“Good boy,” Hunter said, smiling down at a carbon copy of himself. In that moment, he realized that Deacon could be his son. If he’d met someone and fallen in love and they’d had a baby when he was just twenty years old….

Hunter looked up and away from the thought. “I’ll take the boys,” he said. “Maybe I’ll stop by the store and get ice cream on the way out.”

“We have plenty of ice cream,” Elise said with a smile as she leaned around Dad. Hunter loved her too, because she’d first loved him when he was an awkward and unsure teenager. She’d loved his father through everything imaginable, and that made her a saint in Hunter’s eyes. 

“Grandma made a cake last night,” Dad said. “Trust me, we have everything you could want.”

Hunter paused as others moved up the aisle in front of him. “Is it for me, Dad?”

“Of course,” Dad said with a healthy grin. “Grandma and Grandpa can’t wait to see you again.”

Hunter hadn’t stayed at the farm last night, because he hadn’t quite been in town yet. He’d driven in that morning, just in time for church. Everything he owned was either in the back of his truck or on its way from Massachusetts. 

“I don’t need a big welcome home party,” he said, his mood darkening. He didn’t really like having the spotlight on him, and he gave his father a glare.

“It’s Grandma,” Dad said. “What am I supposed to tell her? That she can’t make a cake for her favorite grandson?” 

Hunter softened then. “Where are they?” He eased into the flow of people moving toward the doors at the back, his hand still gripping Deacon’s.

Dad moved into the aisle with him, and they stood at the exact same height, shoulder to shoulder. “They don’t get to church much anymore,” he said. “Not since Grandpa’s fall.”

Hunter nodded, his teeth automatically clenching together. He hadn’t been here for that; he hadn’t had availability to come visit. Regret laced through him as he moved slowly toward the door.

In the foyer, the crowd dispersed a little, and Hunter had more breathing room. “I’m over this way,” he said to Deacon, tugging on the boy’s hand to get him to go left. “You comin’, Tucker?”

“Yeah.” Tucker hurried over to Hunter while Dad and Elise and Jane went right. He dropped his bag, and Hunter paused to wait for him to pick it up.

“I still think we should get ice cream,” he said to Deacon. “Do you think Grandma got butter pecan?”

“She got vanilla,” Deacon said, looking up at him. “And cookies and cream, and that gross bubble gum kind that Jane loves.”

“Hmm.” Hunter looked up, thinking they definitely needed more ice cream, and everything around him fell away. 

Molly stood fifteen feet in front of him, next to her mother. She still had that gorgeous smile framing white teeth. Her reddish-brownish-blonde hair had always struck Hunter right behind the heart, as had her bright green eyes.

Hers met his dark ones, and he saw the moment she recognized him. Those eyes widened, and she lifted one hand to cover her mouth, which had opened slightly.

Her mother said something to her, but Molly didn’t react. Hunter knew exactly what was going on, because everything around him was muted too. Just gone, because there was Molly, and she was all he’d ever wanted or needed.

Hunter realized in that moment that he’d never gotten over her. He may have kissed other girls, but he’d only ever wanted to kiss her. 

She blinked, leaned toward her mother, and said something to her. 

Her mother’s eyes flew to Hunter, and he managed to lift one hand in a half-hearted wave.

“Hunt,” Deacon said, and all kinds of chatter and noise met his ears as his senses returned.

“Yeah?” Hunter glanced down at the boy for a fraction of a second. “What?” He looked back to where Molly had been, but she’d moved.

No! his heart cried out. He had to find her and talk to her. He had to know if she was seeing someone or if she might be available to be his again.

“Tucker’s gone,” Deacon said, and that got Hunter to focus.

“What?” He turned around, expecting Tucker to still be collecting his bag from the floor. He wasn’t there. He wasn’t anywhere behind Hunter. “Where did he go?” He scanned the front doors, but bright sunlight poured into the building, blinding him.

“Hello, Hunter,” Molly said, and Hunter felt like he was being whiplashed all over the place. He swung around again, and she stood in front of him now, definitely older than the girl he’d first crushed on, but still just as beautiful. She smiled and tucked her hair, just as she’d done in the past. He remembered when he’d tucked it for her, and then kissed her. He’d done that many times, and he wished he could think of something else. Anything else.

“Hey, Molly,” he said. “I, uh, sort of have a problem.”

Her smile faltered, and she glanced at Deacon. “You do?” 

“Yeah,” Deacon said with plenty of five-year-old sass. “He lost our brother.”